into my bay, and by the
time I hoist it on the lift, I see Titan watching a video on his phone.
“You hear about that?” he says to
me.
“What?”
“That guy last night, just
outside Hammerhead.”
“Yeah.” I head to the stock room
to grab a couple quarts of oil and return. “What about him?”
“I’d kill to know who that som’
bitch was,” he says. “I’d like to recruit him. Buy him a drink. Make him a rich
bastard.”
***
The lights are off when I get
home. The sun’s gone down. The faint drone of the family room TV and the hint
of lamplight fills the backside of the house.
“Hello?” A voice calls out.
I ignore it.
I’d much rather be a ghost here. This whole house is filled with ‘em anyway. The ghost of better times. The ghost
of good memories and a time when life was simple.
“Hello?” It calls out again,
louder. It’s Jordana. It’s much too young-sounding to
be Laticia, and I’m sure she and my father are out painting the town red.
“Just me.” I kick my dirty boots
off by the back door and hang my oil-stained shop jacket, a too-tight hand-me-down
that had once belonged to Kyle.
I trek upstairs, peeling my
clothes off and tossing them on the floor of the guest room before strutting
down the hall buck naked and hitting the shower. I don’t fucking care anymore.
I have no shame. You lose any ounce of decency when you’re locked up like that,
sharing a shower with a handful of other men. In the last five years, I’ve seen
more cocks than a man should see in his lifetime.
And I sure as fuck don’t care if
Jordana sees me. She’s a grown woman. She should know what a dick looks like.
Twenty minutes later, I shower
off. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I strut down the hall to my room,
catching Jordana leaving hers.
“Why were those keys on my pillow
last night?” I ask.
She shrugs like she doesn’t know
what I’m talking about. I know better. “Where were you last night?”
“I don’t want to drive your
brother’s car. Not if your mom’s going to get upset like that again.”
“She’s fine,” Jordana says, her
gaze falling to my mouth and then to the bare skin below. The soap-scented heat
from my damp body permeates into the air around us, and I watch her breathe me
in. “We had a talk. You’re going to fix up his Mustang so she can sell it. She
needs the closure. It’s fine. It’s good that this is happening.”
“Why are you being nice to me?”
“I’m a nice person,” she says.
“Give me a fucking break.”
Her dark brows furrow.
“You want something,” I say. “You
want something from me. That’s why you’re being nice.”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
Her arms fold. “I mean, I guess I just want you to be nice and respectful. But
that’s not why I talked my mom into letting you drive the Mustang.”
“Hate to break it to you,
princess,” I scoff, “but I abandoned nice and respectful the second I set foot
inside the pen.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“You don’t have to.”
“You’re a good person, Titan.
Your family…your father…you were raised to be a good person. You were going to
college. You were-”
“The hell, Jordana? You think you
know me?” My nostrils flare as my hand flies up, slapping the wall behind her
and forcing her back into a corner. “What, you been researching me?”
“I-I’m a criminology major,” she
stammers. “My life’s mission is to help rehabilitate the prison population.
Reform them. Help them acclimate to the real world after a long stretch on the
inside. There’s a real problem with institutionalism in this country. It’s an
epidemic, Titan, and if there’s anything I can do to help anyone, I’m going to
do it.”
“Aw, isn’t that fucking cute?” I
laugh. “Look at you. Going out into the world and making a difference. Let me
guess, you spend your Thanksgivings at soup kitchens too?”
Her bottom lip trembles. A carnal
stirring inside me wants to bite
time I hoist it on the lift, I see Titan watching a video on his phone.
“You hear about that?” he says to
me.
“What?”
“That guy last night, just
outside Hammerhead.”
“Yeah.” I head to the stock room
to grab a couple quarts of oil and return. “What about him?”
“I’d kill to know who that som’
bitch was,” he says. “I’d like to recruit him. Buy him a drink. Make him a rich
bastard.”
***
The lights are off when I get
home. The sun’s gone down. The faint drone of the family room TV and the hint
of lamplight fills the backside of the house.
“Hello?” A voice calls out.
I ignore it.
I’d much rather be a ghost here. This whole house is filled with ‘em anyway. The ghost of better times. The ghost
of good memories and a time when life was simple.
“Hello?” It calls out again,
louder. It’s Jordana. It’s much too young-sounding to
be Laticia, and I’m sure she and my father are out painting the town red.
“Just me.” I kick my dirty boots
off by the back door and hang my oil-stained shop jacket, a too-tight hand-me-down
that had once belonged to Kyle.
I trek upstairs, peeling my
clothes off and tossing them on the floor of the guest room before strutting
down the hall buck naked and hitting the shower. I don’t fucking care anymore.
I have no shame. You lose any ounce of decency when you’re locked up like that,
sharing a shower with a handful of other men. In the last five years, I’ve seen
more cocks than a man should see in his lifetime.
And I sure as fuck don’t care if
Jordana sees me. She’s a grown woman. She should know what a dick looks like.
Twenty minutes later, I shower
off. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I strut down the hall to my room,
catching Jordana leaving hers.
“Why were those keys on my pillow
last night?” I ask.
She shrugs like she doesn’t know
what I’m talking about. I know better. “Where were you last night?”
“I don’t want to drive your
brother’s car. Not if your mom’s going to get upset like that again.”
“She’s fine,” Jordana says, her
gaze falling to my mouth and then to the bare skin below. The soap-scented heat
from my damp body permeates into the air around us, and I watch her breathe me
in. “We had a talk. You’re going to fix up his Mustang so she can sell it. She
needs the closure. It’s fine. It’s good that this is happening.”
“Why are you being nice to me?”
“I’m a nice person,” she says.
“Give me a fucking break.”
Her dark brows furrow.
“You want something,” I say. “You
want something from me. That’s why you’re being nice.”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
Her arms fold. “I mean, I guess I just want you to be nice and respectful. But
that’s not why I talked my mom into letting you drive the Mustang.”
“Hate to break it to you,
princess,” I scoff, “but I abandoned nice and respectful the second I set foot
inside the pen.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“You don’t have to.”
“You’re a good person, Titan.
Your family…your father…you were raised to be a good person. You were going to
college. You were-”
“The hell, Jordana? You think you
know me?” My nostrils flare as my hand flies up, slapping the wall behind her
and forcing her back into a corner. “What, you been researching me?”
“I-I’m a criminology major,” she
stammers. “My life’s mission is to help rehabilitate the prison population.
Reform them. Help them acclimate to the real world after a long stretch on the
inside. There’s a real problem with institutionalism in this country. It’s an
epidemic, Titan, and if there’s anything I can do to help anyone, I’m going to
do it.”
“Aw, isn’t that fucking cute?” I
laugh. “Look at you. Going out into the world and making a difference. Let me
guess, you spend your Thanksgivings at soup kitchens too?”
Her bottom lip trembles. A carnal
stirring inside me wants to bite
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